


Late Night Booty Call

by Lysippe



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: And I suck at it, F/F, i hate writing porn, why did everyone in this fandom always want me to write porn, wtf y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-12 06:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16867999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: Prompt: After Johanna strips in the elevator, Katniss pretends to not like it, but realy can’t stop thinking about her (or her body). She gets up in the middle of the night, and goes to Johanna’s room, where Johanna says she was wondering when she would show, and helps Katniss with her lust. It isn’t until after this first encounter that Johanna admits that it wasn’t just lust, but has been love since she first saw her. Katniss returns the sentiment.





	Late Night Booty Call

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, you guys. This was going to just be a light little fluffy porny piece. What happened? I have no idea. I think Katniss’ rambling inner monologue somehow always ends up getting to me, and then words just happen. It’s really confusing, because this took me like ten hours of consistent productivity and I don’t even know anymore. (I feel like I think this about a lot of what I write. That’s probably not good.) Also, I was going to give this fic a real name, but by the time I got around to naming it, the temptation for this one was just too great. So sorrynotsorry. ANYWAY. 
> 
> Also, I'm pretty sure this is the one where my future wife anonymously requested smut from me.

Just as the elevator doors are beginning to close, an arm appears between them, forcing them open once more. The arm is followed by the slim figure of Johanna Mason from District 7, clad in some godawful spandex bodysuit that I presume is supposed to simulate tree bark. I remind myself to thank Cinna the next time I see him for sparing me similar indignities time and again, and I feel a pang of sympathy towards Johanna as she angrily tears the bracelets off her wrists, complaining about her idiot stylist.

All sympathy disappears, however, when Johanna turns to Peeta and casually asks him to unzip her. Peeta shrugs and obliges her, casting a quick glance my way, just in time to see the scowl cross my face. Looking entirely too smug for my liking, Johanna makes quick work of getting out of her costume.

I look towards Haymitch, who is unabashedly enjoying the show, then to Peeta, who is clearly trying not to. Anywhere but at the creamy breasts on display in front of me, at the gentle curve of her hip, the full lips forming a teasing smile, or the dark eyes boring into me as though she’s daring me to do something about it.

My frown remains firmly in place, something for which I am endlessly grateful, as I try not to enjoy myself. This is torture. It’s torture and it’s not fair and I hate her for it. Except I don’t.

The elevator dings and as suddenly as she appeared, Johanna is gone, a casual “Let’s do it again sometime” left hanging in the air and her clothes still pooled on the ground at our feet.

“Johanna Mason,” Haymitch says, still smiling. “District 7.” Like I didn’t know.

When we get to the 12th floor, I make a beeline to my room, locking the door behind me so Haymitch and Peeta can’t bother me. They don’t try.

Deciding that resting is the most logical course of action for me, I change my clothes and flop backwards onto my bed. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t fall asleep.

Johanna Mason has messed up my priorities. There are a hundred things that should be on my mind right now. My continued sham love affair with Peeta. Keeping my family safe. Training. Alliances. The 22 victors waiting in the wings to kill me off. I should  _not_  be thinking about how Johanna’s hair shone in the fluorescent lights of the elevator, how her eyes sparkled teasingly as she stripped, and especially not about how her nipples hardened when exposed to the cool air of the elevator. Yet that is exactly what I am thinking about. That and  _absolutely nothing else_.

After three hours of trying desperately and failing to get Johanna’s stupid striptease out of my mind, I get up and crack my door open. To my relief, the lights are off. Haymitch and Peeta must have gone to bed. Padding softly across the floor, careful not to make any more noise than I have to, I creep out to the elevator, stopping for a brief moment to consider what I am about to do. 

We aren’t banned from one another’s floors like the tributes were last year. I guess they figured that with most of the victors already knowing each other, that would be a futile endeavor. But that doesn’t make visiting Johanna Mason at one in the morning any less stupid. In the back of my head, I hear Haymitch’s voice saying that just because it’s allowed doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.

Then again, I’m seventeen and I’ll be dead in a few days anyway, so I think I’m owed a few bad decisions. I slam my palm down on the button that says “7” and wait. As the doors slide open, I realize that I have absolutely no idea which room is Johanna’s, and it would be pretty awkward for me to just knock on doors until I find hers. I am about to give up and go upstairs when a hand grips my shoulder from behind.

Reflexively, I tense and prepare to attack, when a voice teasingly whispers in my ear, “I was wondering when you were going to show. I almost gave up on you, you know.”

I turn around and see Johanna Mason wearing an oversized shirt… and nothing else. Swallowing hard, I look closely at her and am immediately struck by how much smaller she appears when disarmed, without a weapon in her hand or a veritable truckload of Capitol makeup on her face. Smaller, and definitely prettier, but no less confident, apparently.

Part of me finds her arrogance extremely off-putting, but as my gaze drifts involuntarily down her body, to the end of the t-shirt that just barely skims her thighs, my irritation is replaced by the spark of arousal that travels straight through my body. I shudder as the hand gripping my shoulder travels down my arm, slender fingers grazing bare skin until they find my hand. Johanna tugs slightly, and I glance back up at her. 

She raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “I mean, we could do this here, but I thought you might prefer the privacy of a bedroom. Fine by me, though, I don’t care.”

“No!” I say, not entirely sure whether I am objecting to the implied activity or her apparent willingness to engage in it out in the hallway for the world to see. Trying to maintain what little composure I have left, I add, “Your room would be better.”

It’s just as well she found me, because Johanna’s room is the last one in the hallway, and I would have woken up the entirety District 7’s delegation looking for her. I follow as Johanna strides into her room, flipping the light switch and kicking the door shut behind me.

I don’t even have a chance to look around before I am pinned up against the wall, Johanna’s lips covering my own in a fierce kiss. Dully, I realize that she has to stand on her tiptoes to kiss me, but whatever self-satisfaction I feel at this is quickly drowned out as her hands find their way under my shirt. I moan as her fingers crawl up my stomach, and I can feel her laugh as she kisses me. When I finally need to breathe, I turn my head slightly and murmur, “What are we doing?”

Her hands stop their journey upwards and Johanna frowns slightly. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“It is,” I say, unsure of why exactly I am suddenly so nervous.

Johanna sighs, frustrated. “ _You_  came to  _me_  in the middle of the night,” she points out. “What the fuck else would it be except a late night booty call?”

She’s right, of course. That’s exactly what I came down here for. And I’m not second guessing myself now, not really. “I just need a moment,” I say lamely. “This is kind of a lot to process.”

Johanna rolls her eyes, but shrugs nonchalantly, drumming her fingers impatiently against my abdomen. “God, you’re such a virgin.”

That stings a little, but she not wrong. “So what? I’m here, aren’t I?” I shoot back trying not to look as insecure as I feel right now.

An expression I haven’t seen before flashes across Johanna’s face, not quite tender, but almost understanding. “Okay, brainless,” she says finally. “Given the less than ideal circumstances, let’s at least not make your first time consist of you being pinned up against a wall while I fuck you senseless.”

Johanna’s fingers are still tapping out a steady beat against my stomach, and it’s driving me crazy. I am about to tell her that that doesn’t sound too bad to me, when she laughs.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still fuck you senseless,” she says lightly. “But the bed might be more to your liking.”

She turns and pills me toward her bed, stopping at the side. I am about to ask her why when I feel her hands start tugging at my pants, deftly untying the drawstring that holds them up and letting them fall to the floor. Suddenly, I feel exposed, vulnerable. I cross my arms over my chest and Johanna looks at me curiously for a moment.

“Feeling a little unbalanced?” she asks, a trace of sympathy in her voice. 

I nod, staring down at my bare feet and wondering what the hell I got myself into. Then I feel Johanna’s hand grip my own, guiding it under her shirt to the soft skin beneath. As my fingers trace their way up her body, gliding over her hips, I realize she’s not wearing underwear, and I moan involuntarily.  _Shit_. 

“There,” she says, satisfied. “Now we’re on an equal footing. So how about we get rid of these, and continue with our plans?” She grabs her shirt and pulls it over her head, baring herself to me.

As much as I admire her confidence, I can’t quite bring myself to replicate it, and I meekly follow suit, resisting the urge to cover myself up as much as possible.

“Katniss,” Johanna says, her voice high and soft, all traces of arrogance replaced by something almost gentle. 

I realize it is the first time I have ever heard her say my name, and the corners of her mouth turn upwards slightly as I meet her gaze.

“You,” she continues emphatically, “are beautiful. Let me show you.”

Those were not the words I was expecting to hear coming out of Johanna’s mouth, and I am so shocked that I wordlessly let myself be pulled down onto the bed.

At once, Johanna is on top of me, straddling my hips, and I can feel her wetness against me. My eyes widen as I realize that, for some reason, she wants this as much as I do. She’s not just humoring me, not just getting me into bed so she can brag later about how she fucked the girl on fire. Beautiful, confident Johanna Mason actually  _wants_  me. I feel a surge of confidence, enough to participate this time when her lips come crashing down onto mine.

“Fuck, Katniss,” she groans, and I am really beginning to like the way my name sounds coming from her lips.

I don’t have a chance to protest when she breaks the kiss, because her mouth begins to trace a path down my neck, alternately sucking and nibbling, while her hand drifts between my legs, fingers parting my lips.

“So fucking wet,” she murmurs, and I find myself flushing deeply.

“I can’t help it,” I protest weakly.

Johanna chuckles into my sternum, low and throaty. “It’s a good thing,” she says, her mouth covering one of my nipples and biting down lightly. One finger slides inside me, and I gasp.

Immediately, Johanna stops what she’s doing and looks up at me. “Did I hurt you?”

The question seems to utterly ludicrous to me that I laugh.

Johanna doesn’t seem to find it funny, however. She frowns. “I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” I assure her, frustrated. I know she’s concerned, but she needs to get over that  _right fucking now_  and get back to business. “But… isn’t it supposed to? Hurt, I mean. Everyone always said it hurts the first time.”

“Not always. Not with a woman. I don’t want to hurt you,” she repeats, and it hits me how serious she is about this.

“You won’t, I say confidently. 24 hours ago, I would have thought that Johanna Mason would happily bury her axe in my chest without a second thought, but right now, something tells me that she would rather chew off her own hand than cause me pain.

“You’ll tell me if I do?”

“Promise,” I say, and the vulnerability in her eyes sends an intense jolt of arousal straight to my core, where her hand still rests, and I take a deep, steadying breath. “Now if you don’t mind, could we perhaps focus on the task at hand?

At once, the confidence returns to Johanna’s eyes, and without a word her lips latch onto my nipple, sucking hard as she again slides one finger inside me, eyes watching my expression carefully for any sign of pain.

This time, when I moan, I make sure she knows what it means. “So good,” I breathe out, my voice catching as Johanna tentatively adds another finger.

“Tell me what you want,” Johanna whispers.

What I want? What I want is for Johanna to make good on her promise and fuck me senseless. What I want is for her to make me see stars and hold me as I come and never let me go. Beyond that, I have no idea what I want. “Don’t stop.”

And she doesn’t. Fingers still thrusting inside me, harder and faster than before, Johanna moves down my body, planting kisses in strategic spots as she goes - in the valley between my breasts, on my navel, my hip, and finally, as she arrives at the junction between my thighs, on my pelvis. I am moaning freely now, the only word escaping my mouth being, “please,” repeated in increasing desperation with each kiss.

Johanna’s tongue replaces her fingers and as my back arches off the bed, I feel her hands glide over my ass and up my hips. It is mere seconds after that I am screaming her name, trembling violently, muscles clenching, and my vision goes white.

When I come down from the incredible rush of my orgasm, I realize that Johanna has shifted positions, and is straddling my thigh, rubbing herself against it, head tossed back so her long hair tickles my knees. Part of me wants to stop her, to touch her and explore her like she did to me, but I am so enraptured at the sight of her thrusting against me with wanton abandon that the words die in my throat.

“Look at me,” Johanna says suddenly. “I want you to see me.”

So I do. Her eyes lock mine in, and one hand grasps mine, pulling it up to her breast. 

“Touch me.”

Instinctively, I understand that it is a request disguised as a command, and I comply, rolling her nipple between my fingers, pinching lightly and marveling as it hardens beneath my grasp.

“Fuck!” At first I think I have done something wrong, but her breaths become ragged, her thrusts shorter, and in a moment I realize how mistaken I was. She moans my name, long and low, and I watch in awe as she comes, breasts heaving, her wetness soaking my thigh. I don’t know how she manages it, but she never breaks the connection between our eyes until she collapses, spent, beside me.

It takes a moment for Johanna to compose herself enough to speak, and I feel a twinge of pride at my role in her pleasure, however small it may have been. In that moment, I notice that she smells like pine trees, even here in the Capitol, and I find myself thinking that it’s nice how she can retain something so natural even in this artificial world.

In an instant, however, seriousness overcomes Johanna’s countenance. Her posture stiffens and she rolls away from me until I can feel the chill of the air where the warmth of her body used to be.

“Johanna?” I ask softly, tentatively allowing my fingertips to ghost over her shoulder. I can see the goosebumps erupt on the flesh of her arm, but she doesn’t pull away. That’s a good sign. But she doesn’t respond, either. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” Stupid question, I think. Obviously everything isn’t okay.

“Why did you come here tonight?” she asks, her voice muffled by the pillow.

I don’t know what I was expecting her to say, but that wasn’t it. “I guess, after the elevator… I couldn’t stop thinking of you,” I say, heat flooding my cheeks. “How you moved, how confident and graceful and ridiculously attractive you were.”

“So it really was just a late night booty call, then? One last hurrah so you don’t have to die a virgin?” Johanna’s tone is light, but I can hear the bitterness woven into her words like a tapestry, and suddenly I am uncertain.

I definitely came down to Johanna’s room for sex, that much is undeniable. But even condemned as I am to die, I’m not the type of person to sleep with someone just to say I did it. “No. That’s not right,” I say, and she peers cautiously over her shoulder for a brief second before turning away once more. Encouraged by this slight crack in the wall Johanna has put up, I continue. “There was something about you that brought me here. I needed  _you_ ,” I admit, the realization fresh in my mind. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

“It’s not,” Johanna says, but the tenseness in her voice begs to differ.

“Yes, it is,” I insist. “You won’t even look at me. I don’t know what it is you think you can’t tell me, but you’re wrong. Johanna, I care about you. I want everything to be okay between us.”

“Well, it’s not,” she says shortly.

“I can see that, and I want to make it better, whatever it is,” I say, frustrated.

Johanna doesn’t answer.

Then an idea dawns on me. “Johanna, remember how you said you wanted my first time to be good? Well, do you really want this to be what I remember from it?” It’s a low blow, to be certain, but it gets a reaction.

Johanna rolls over so abruptly that I gasp. “Fuck that!” she snarls, trying unsuccessfully to mask the pain in her voice with anger.

“Fuck what?” I ask evenly, trying to keep her anger in check. 

“All of this!” She’s shouting now, so apparently I’m not doing too good of a job. “I finally get you into bed, and this happens! Fuck!”

Something clicks in my head, and the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place. “You finally get me into bed?” I repeat, the phrasing of Johanna’s statement much more revealing than she intended it to be.

“Forget I said that,” Johanna orders, eyes widening.

“Johanna, do you… have feelings for me?” I ask, squeezing her shoulder gently in an attempt to convey that it’s okay. This just got a whole lot more confusing, but now isn’t the time to let her know that.

“Of course I don’t. God, brainless,” Johanna snaps.

“Don’t lie to me,” I say, looking her straight in the eye and trying to replicate that unnervingly intense stare she does so well.

“I’m not.” Johanna’s chin juts out stubbornly, and I can’t help but smile at how childishly adorable it looks.

“Really? I ask, taking a deep breath. “That’s a shame, because I might have feelings for you.” Time to find out if honesty really is the best policy.

“If you’re fucking with me,” Johanna snarls, but I interrupt her before she gets a chance to finish the threat.

“I’m not. Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone might actually  _like_ you? You’re pretty, and clever, and even though you try really hard not to be, you’re actually a kind, caring person.”

Johanna snorts derisively at my characterization.

“You cared enough to not just fuck me against the wall and send me back upstairs,” I say.

She shrugs, but it’s a reaction other than anger, so I’ll take it. I continue, my confidence growing with every word. I understand now, and from here on out it’s just a matter of making Johanna understand as well.

“You cared enough to make sure you didn’t hurt me. Enough to make sure that my first time was as good as it possibly could be. Enough to make sure that I wanted this every step of the way. Face it, Johanna, you’ve been good to me. You care.”

“Fine,” she mumbles, still refusing to look at me.

“Fine what?” I ask, needing to hear it from her.

“Fine maybe I have feelings for you. Maybe I care about you. Maybe I  _love_  you. But that doesn’t matter.”

“How does that not matter?” I ask, confused.

“Because I’m not the one you end up with,” she says bitterly.

“Is this about Peeta? Because I’m not going to be with him,” I say decisively, and curiosity gets the better of Johanna as she glances up at me. “I’ll be dead in a few days anyway, and I don’t want to spend them pretending to love someone I don’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Johanna asks, her tone less angry and more genuinely curious now.

“It means,” I say, taking a deep breath before I continue, “that if I only have a few days left to live, I want to spend them with you. Because maybe I love you, too.”

“What about Snow?”

“He’s already killed me. Not much more he can do now,” I shrug. That isn’t entirely true, but this time here, with Johanna, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, is mine. And I intend to do with it what I want. “How long?” I ask, the question suddenly popping into my mind.

“How long what?”

“How long have you had feelings for me?”

To my surprise, Johanna turns bright red, her skin almost matching the streaks in her hair, and mumbles something under her breath.

“What was that?” I ask, unable to suppress the small grin at having gotten such a reaction out of the normally unflappable Johanna Mason. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said,” she mutters, only slightly louder this time, “since the first time I saw you. When you volunteered for your sister.”

“Well, that’s quite a while,” I say, unable to shake the feeling of gratification I get from knowing that Johanna has held onto her feelings for such a long time.

“Mmhm.”

“I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time. Now come here,” I say, patting the bed next to me.

Johanna looks at me, and I smile, trying to convey the sense of safety I want her to feel. Lifting one arm, I motion for her to move in, and she doesn’t need to be asked twice. As she curls her body into mine, I reflect upon the incredible dichotomy that is the woman snuggled safely in my arms. How she can be both the woman who strips in an elevator without batting an eyelash, and the woman before me now, open and vulnerable and caring. My musings are cut short, however, by the sound of Johanna’s voice, her breath whispering across my chest.

“I totally knew you and bread boy weren’t fucking. Pregnant my ass.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr @ thebestdressedrebelinhistory


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